


The Gray Son

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:32:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows what he's doing.</p><p>(Supplement to Robin: Son of Batman #7)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gray Son

**Author's Note:**

> Supplementary to today’s _Robin: Son of Batman #7_. Damian’s potential mental process as he did what he did. I hope we get a lot of Damian-and-family emotions in the next issue of this event. Also reminder that I had a [Talon!Damian AU](http://fishfingersandjellybabies.tumblr.com/tagged/talon%21damian) before DC did, so. I should get royalties or something. DC, you can pay me in acquiescing to my every demand about Damian’s representation, treatment and overall exposure in comics. Also make Dick his real dad, and I’m good.

He knows what he’s doing.

Lincoln March – his supposed uncle – is speaking. Retelling the deal Damian’s already offered him, just to make sure he heard it all right. Not like it mattered. Not like he was ever going to let Damian leave this room, now that he was there.

Not like Damian was going to leave, regardless.

He wasn’t listening. Honestly, March could have been completely changing the deal to involve murder, theft, or even Damian’s unborn children, and it wouldn’t have mattered.

Damian knows what he’s doing, and he’s not going to _stop_ doing it. No matter what.

Because the Court of Owls wanted their Gray Son, but it’s always been Damian’s job to watch that man’s back.

(Always would be, too.)

He hears the lilt of a question mark as March stops talking. And he doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate. Just nods and agrees. Shakes the monster’s hand, and suppresses the flinch as his maybe-family member touches his shoulder, like he’s proud of him.

(Just like his father does. _Did_.)

No one else touches him, and he’s grateful for that. Will go wherever these freaks lead him in a mockery of respect, because he would do literally _anything_ to keep Grayson safe and out of their hands.

Kill, if it's asked of him. Die, if he must.

There is no ceremony. No fancy rituals. They just hand him a mask. Gleefully tell him to put it on.

And while he does. While he pushes his hood back and pulls on the elastic band of the mask, he thinks of his brothers – of all of them. While he lifts it over his head, he thinks of his mother, and what she conditioned him to do. While he settles the mask against his cheeks, he thinks of his father, and the path that man taught him. While he looks through the eye holes, he thinks of Lincoln March, and the blood they might share.

The laugh bubbling in his throat, that doesn’t escape, is bitter.

Perhaps he is the true Gray Son after all.

A Talon rushes into the room, claims that Dick Grayson is on the premises. Damian’s heart pounds, but it’s okay. He even smiles a little bit, because it’s all _okay_. Because Grayson is safe now and the Court won’t get their dirty little hands on him. Not ever.

Because Damian is their Gray Son now, and Dick never will be.

He suddenly pictures Grayson’s face. Imagines what it would be – what it _will_ be – when he finds out. He can see the shock, the white around those blue irises as Grayson’s eyes widen. Then the utter and complete agony. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the tilt of his head. The parting of his lips, maybe even the little quiver of them too, if Grayson gets emotional enough to cry.

The image hurts, hurts almost as much as knowing he might never see his family, never see _Grayson_ , again, because of this.

But it doesn’t hurt as much as the idea of Dick Grayson being a murderer. Of Dick Grayson hurting people, on _purpose_.

(Because that was all he had left. Because he couldn’t look at his mother without being angry, because his father was no longer truly his father. Because he no longer had his city, or his title. Because he was no longer really even Robin, _apparently_.

Because Grayson and his love and his kindness and his _goodness_ – despite the lies and betrayals and deceit – was _all Damian had left._

And he would protect it with everything he had. Even if that meant giving it up completely.)

The Talon also informs them that the Robins are there too. That a gang of them is traversing through the tunnels. Damian frowns a little bit at that, knew what Lincoln March was going to command before he commanded it. It was an inevitable conclusion, despite how much Damian didn’t want to do it.

Because this was for them, too.

Because the Court of Owls was only looking for one Gray Son. And if he took the spot that meant Dick Grayson didn’t have to be it. It meant Tim Drake and Jason Todd didn’t have to be either.

Lincoln March ordered him to kill them, and he nodded silently, watched as the other Talons grouped behind him, and headed for the tunnels.

He wouldn’t, of course. Hurt them, maybe. But not kill them. Not _them_.

Anyone else, sure. But not them, _specifically_.

They waited in the tunnel, around the corner they could already hear the Robin gang whispering behind. He felt his heart start to pound again, and this time with a sadness.

They would hate him again, now. And that pained him more than he ever thought possible. Because he didn’t want that, he _never_ wanted that. Not in the first place, and not now, especially after they’ve done so much for him.

Hell, they helped bring him back to _life_.

And he didn’t deserve it.

So he watched, as the group rounded the bend, Todd and Drake in the lead. He watched them all freeze, watched recognition hit their cheeks and lips.

He wondered, absently, if Grayson knew yet. If March had found him and told him the news.

(He wondered how quickly he’d be replaced. After all, he was no longer the only Robin. Just one of many anymore, and Duke Thomas seemed to deserve the title more than he ever did.

He was good, both in mind and adaption. He was a worthy successor, and Damian would be content to have the other take his place. Both in the family, and as the protector of those he held dearest.)

And he was thankful for this ugly white mask. Thankful that it covered his face, as he watched his brothers. As he watched that old fury melt onto Drake’s features. All that work they’d both done towards getting along, washed away in an instant.

Even if he got out of this, if they found out his reasoning, there was no way Drake was ever going to trust him again now.

He was thankful for the mask, that it could hide his misting eyes as he saw Todd’s shoulders slump in disappointment. Because Todd obviously had hope for him, and Damian never quite knew why.

But more than anyone, he hoped Todd understood. Not defended him, or protected him, or even came after him.

_We would never turn on our own._

He hoped Todd remembered that. Remembered he said that, not hours ago, and understood.

This had to be done. And it was easier to sacrifice one than all.

(This is what his father would have wanted him to do. Would have wanted him to protect the others. It’s what he told himself. He didn’t dwell on if that was a lie, or what the implications of their little Robin hierarchy was, then.)

He was thankful for the mask, that it hid the tears that dropped down his face as he fell into a fighting stance. As he clicked his tongue and played the part.

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

He thought of Grayson one more time. Thought of that time just a day or two ago, when all four of them were together. Eating. Happy.

Family.

 _Maybe one day._ He thought as his brothers and the pretenders got ready to fight. As the Talons around him jumped forward at his silent command. As the tears blurred his vision so badly he had to blink them away before he could move. _Maybe one day you’ll know. Maybe one day you’ll realize._

_Maybe one day, one of you will be proud of me, for this._

_Maybe one day, one of you will know how much I love you._


End file.
